Page 38 of Faking It With the Small-Town Bad Boy

make the best of it. Prove we’re not going to let this hurt us—at least,

not in their eyes. Behind closed doors, you can cry all you want. Hell,

I’ll be doing the same thing.”

“You cry too?”

“More than I’d like to admit,” I whisper. “But it’s better than the

alternative.”

“What’s the alternative?”

“A big bottle of bourbon or whiskey. Preferably single barrel, maybe

a malt brew with notes of redwood or oaky barrel flavors.” I hold her

tighter and inhale through my nostrils, practically capable of

smelling the whiskey like it’s sitting right in front of me. My mouth

waters, my head spins, and I swallow my saliva to try and hide the

looming emotions that hang like a heavy, offensive demon over my

shoulder. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Ignore that.”

When I open my eyes from the daze I’ve thrown myself into, her chin

is resting on my chest, her eyes cobalt and bright as they stare up at

me. I match her gaze downward, wondering why her eyes look so

much bluer when she’s upset. Before, they were like rain clouds in

the sky, heavy with water and threatening to pour over my head at

the bar.

But here, right now, they’re the brightest and most beautiful shade of

blue I’ve ever seen.

“Is this really a good idea?” she whispers. “You and I aren’t exactly

the most stable right now. How are we going to pretend that we’re

together, that we’re a couple, when we know nothing about one

another? It’s just too difficult to grasp. We’re the two most opposite

people in the world, Percy.”

“I know that, but this could be beneficial for us both. We can move

on and keep some dignity.”

After a long, thoughtful moment, she pulls out of my embrace and

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